


On the Front Line

by BleedxLikexMe



Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: All the Avatar references!, Also lots of Bending, Author abuses tags like this is Tumblr, But basically by the second chapter he is, But just barely, But not at first, But this isn't a Hunger Games AU, F/M, Hunger Games-esque fighting ring, I mean yeah it's pretty fucking AU but it's not at the same time, Like fire bending and shit, M/M, Stiles is BAMF, Teen Wolf AU, WIP, Work In Progress, magical!Stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-19
Updated: 2012-09-19
Packaged: 2017-11-14 14:00:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/515963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BleedxLikexMe/pseuds/BleedxLikexMe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles didn't actually plan on getting kidnapped but life rarely leads you where you want to go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. That 'Oh Shit' Feeling

**Author's Note:**

> This is an ongoing fic that I'm still writing, so tell me what you like and don't like. Seriously, the quality of this fic relies on good feedback.

Something cold and damp was brushing against Stiles’ forehead. He jerked awake, gasping and flailing backwards. He hit a set of bars behind him and his palms scraped against cold, hard concrete beneath him. The damp something turned out to be a wet rag that was being held by a young looking girl. She couldn’t have been more than a year or so older than him, really. Stiles gaped at her, heart hammering painfully fast in his chest as he tried to take in his surroundings and watch the girl at the same time, “Who are you?” Stiles demanded, trying to make his voice steady.

In the few seconds it took for him to get that sentence out, Stiles watched her. He took in her appearance and catalogued it. His brain soaked up the new information like a sponge and for once he was glad he had an eidetic memory. She had smooth looking, creamy skin, large, doe-like emerald green eyes, and full lips. She wore a pair of dirty jeans, an olive green tank top, and a pair of scuffed up tennis shoes.

The girl set the wet cloth onto a cracked dish and sat on her legs, looking incredibly uncomfortable as she did so.  She just grunted at him and, like, okay? What the actual fuck was that?! She stood and brushed off jeans before heading towards the set of tables across the room- well, cavern really- from them.

Stiles scrambled after her, ignoring the like-whoa head rush he got from standing up too quickly, “Where am I? Is this some kind of weird cult thing?” The chick ignored him, “Okay not a cult thing? A Pack thing? Did Derek put you up to this? He’s such an ass. I mean, sure, he gets his rocks off by scaring me but this is, like, six and a half different kinds of fucked up.” Stiles babbled nervously, wrapping his arms around his middle as if he could physically hold himself together.

A loud clanging sound made Stiles jump and whip around, eyes wide and wild as he searched for the cause of the noise. It was too dark to see very far, “What the actual fuck is going on? Where’s Derek? Why am I here?” Stiles demanded to the room in general. A dark chuckling sound echoed throughout the cave and Stiles was suddenly sure that he was in a bad horror movie because, like, really, who the hell actually did that kind of shit outside of bad horror movies?

The far wall slid up, revealing a tall man in a suave black suit. He was well muscled, with spiky blond hair and a snake-like grin, “You’re here for a very special reason.” The man said with a smirk, “Would you like to know what that is, Stiles?”

Stiles froze, his heart plummeted and fear tied his stomach into knots, “H-how do you know my name?” He cursed himself mentally in about three different languages for how weak he sounded but c’mon! He was just a human boy! How was he supposed to be strong when he was legit about to piss himself?! The guy just grinned wider at him and wow, okay, yeah, that wasn’t super freaking creepy or anything.

“I know a lot of things about you, Stiles. Including a few things even you don’t know. Not yet anyways.” A light flickered on, illuminating the rest of the chamber. Stiles gasped at the sight before him. All along both sides of the chamber were cages and in those cages were people. Some of them clearly weren’t human, but some of them looked human. Stiles had the feeling he was the only actual human there aside from Creepy Guy.

Great.

Stiles swallowed hard and tore his eyes away from the things in the cages, “What is this place?” He whispered hoarsely.

Creepy Guy smirked, “This is your new home. There are a few rules you’ll need to adhere to, though.” Creepy Guy snapped his fingers and suddenly Stiles was being held down by two frog looking guys. With a very manly- okay, maybe not so manly- scream he struggled and tried to get away, but the frog dudes had him firmly in their grasp.

For some stupid reason all Stiles could think was Patrick Star saying, “Firmly grasp it in your hand. _Firmly grasp it!”_ over and over again. Right now was really not the best time to be mentally watching SpongeBob Square Pants. Clearly. Stiles attempted to bite the green hand that was clicking a silver collar around his neck but he didn’t quite get it, “What the hell is this?!” Stiles demanded, thrashing with renewed vigor when he felt a faint electrical current pulse through him.

Creepy Guy snapped his fingers once more and suddenly stiles was released, “That collar is what's stopping you from escaping. You cross these boundaries here-” Creepy Guy pointed at the white lines painted at his feet, "and you die. Electrocuted to death." Stiles opened his mouth to demand to be let out because seriously who the fuck was this guy? But Creepy Guy spoke before he could get any words out and really, that was a feat all on its own, “I know all about you, Stiles. Don't play with me.” He growled, looking suddenly very dangerous and really Stiles was suddenly very aware of how desperately he had to pee.

Putting on a brave face Stiles looked Creepy Guy right in the eyes, “Then you know my Pack will be looking for me and when they find me, you’ll be dead. Like, really dead. Like, so dead you can’t pull a Peter and come back dead.”

Creepy Guy just laughed at Stiles’ babble, “If you survive tonight, I’ll be sure to invite your Pack here, how about that?”

Stiles floundered, “What? What’s tonight?”

A strange glint in Creepy Guy’s eyes made Stiles shiver, “Tonight is your first fight, Stiles.”

“Huh? Fight? What?” Stiles so did _not_ want to fight. Like, uh, all aboard the _Nope Train_ to _FuckThatVille._

“This is a tournament, Stiles. Last two fighters standing wins.”

“What do the victors get?” Stiles asked even though, hey, he was fairly sure he already knew the answer and if he was right, that was a crap answer.

“Victor’s get their freedom back and they never have to go through this again.” Creepy Guy assured him and yep, Stiles knew that was the prize. Well, he knew the whole they-get-to-live part. The never-doing-this-again part was news. Some fucking prize, though. Good job, Stiles. Way to be kidnapped and subsequently thrown into a supernatural Hunger Games and ohmigod, Stiles totally saw this episode of Angel last week with Isaac!

“At the end of this episode you turn into a pile of dust, you know.” Stiles blurted, because yeah, no self-preservation instinct whatsoever. Creepy Guy just blinked at him and made a hand gesture that Stiles took to mean ‘keep talking’ which was weird in its own respect because anybody that had been watching him for as long as Creepy Guy had insinuated should know that Stiles could talk with the best of them, “There was this one episode of Angel, y’know, by Joss Whedon?

Stiles inhaled deeply to continue his stream of chatter, “Anyways, Angel got kidnapped and he was, like, tossed into this cavern of cages with all these other demon-y creature things. Basically he had to fight to survive but he wouldn’t because, hello, soul? But, like, there were humans betting on who would win like they were at the race track and, like, shit happened and in the end the ring master, played by you, was electrocuted and burned into a pile of ash.”

Creepy Guy nodded, “Interesting.” He murmured, “I’ll keep that in mind. For now, though, you should pick your weapons and armor, the fights start in a couple of hours.” With that, Creepy Guy left the cavern, the wall sliding shut behind him.

“Well that sucks. How am I supposed to fight? I don’t know how to fight!” Stiles hissed, throwing his arms in the air, frustrated with the general world at the moment. He tugged at the collar and yipped when it shocked him.

“You have people searching for you?” The girl from behind him asked in her whiskey smooth voice. Stiles squawked indignantly and whirled around, having completely forgotten she was there. She had a contemplative glint in her eyes and Stiles simply nodded, “How certain are you of that?”

“You’re asking if my Pack will come for me?”

“Yes, I’m asking if your Pack of werewolves will come for you, the human.”

“Then the answer is yes. Absolutely yes, they’ll come for me. I know they will. Even if the Pack didn’t like me they’d do it because Scott wouldn’t stop bugging them to come rescue me.” Stiles assured the girl and stretched out his hand, “I’m Stiles.”

The girl warily took his hand and shook it, “I’m Azrael.”

“Like the Angel of Death?”

“Exactly like the Angel of Death. You can call me Azzie if that makes you feel better.” She smiled a bit and Stiles couldn’t help but feel like she looked prettier and younger when she did so, “Come on,” she dropped his hand and motioned for him to follow her, “I’ll help you get ready for tonight.”

Stiles followed her, unease pooling in his gut, “So, how do these fights work?” He asked, “Because this is very Hunger Games and I gotta say I’m not the biggest fan of dying. Like ever. In fact, I plan on not dying. Not any time soon, anyways.”

Azrael opened two wardrobes, one full of weapons and the other full of different types of armor. She gave him an odd look, which, really, it was the look all people got once they realized how fucking weird Stiles was and yeah, he was used to it but it still kinda stung, “What are you good at?” She asked, poking and prodding various weapons, “Aside from talking, I mean.” She said with a friendly smirk, and yeah, Stiles was so making her be his new best friend. Fuck Scott, except not really.

Stiles paused, “I know a bit of magic, I mean, just, like, vague defensive spells. Nothing huge.” He eyed the mace in Azreal’s grip warily, “Nothing that could protect me against _that_.”

Azrael nodded contemplatively, “Alright, I can teach you a few things but I can’t teach you everything you’ll need to know by the time your fight comes up.” She tossed a thick book at him and he scrambled to catch it. The book was heavy and leather bound, the pages crinkled and made ominous noises when he fumbled to get it right-side-up in his grip.

Stiles blinked at the title and frowned, “You’re going to teach me how to cook?”

Azrael smirked, “No, I’m going to teach you how to survive. That book will help you if you make it past tonight.” She set a long strip of leather on the table and motioned for Stiles to come closer. He set the book down and did as he was told, “Do you know what chakra is?” She asked as she began to dress him for battle. Stiles swallowed nervously and shook his head. He figured he should probably keep his mouth shut for once and even though it was really fucking difficult to, he managed it. Just barely.

“Our chakras are how our energy travels. Your wolf friends have eight chakras, instead of the normal seven that humans have. They have eight because they are just a bit more than human. The eighth chakra is connected directly to the wolf part of them and is assisted by the moon. Humans are assisted more by the sun than anything else.” Azrael explained, fitting a gauntlet to his right hand.

“Okay, that I get. I mean, I vaguely recall Doctor Deaton talking about chakras and how they correlate directly to magic and its strength but what I don’t get is how that works.” Stiles let out a harsh breath, scrubbing his free hand over his face.

“You know that magic is tied to belief, right?”

“Yeah, but-”

“And belief is basically a positive outlook, right?”

“Well, _yeah_ -”

“Your chakras are influenced by positive and negative emotions.”

Stiles blinked, “Oh, so, if I believe my chakras are, like, aligned or whatever, they will be?”

Azrael bobbed her head and pulled off his gauntlets, “Of a sort. But, they can be realigned by outside forces, too. People can physically move your chakras if they know how. Which can be very dangerous, Stiles. _Very_.”

“Alright, I get it. Sheesh, why are you helping me, anyways? Aren’t we going to have to fight each other eventually?” Something suddenly clicked in Stiles’ mind and he hurled himself away from Azrael, “You’re trying to kill me right now aren’t you?! You’re fucking with my chakras, huh?!”

Azrael held up her hands, palms out, “I’m helping you, Stiles. I’m not trying to hurt you, I promise.”

Stiles relaxed minutely, “But why are you helping me? It doesn’t make sense!”

Azrael sighed heavily, “Because you have people coming for you. A family. A Pack. You’re important to a lot of people, Stiles. I can already see that. I- I had the chance to help someone out before and I didn’t take that chance. I regret it every day I’m here.”

Stiles frowned, his forehead crinkling slightly as he did, “Why didn’t you help them?” He asked, because really, he needed to know what kind of person she was. He needed to know if he could actually trust her like he wanted to.

 _“Because I was a selfish bitch.”_ She ground out, eyes suddenly hard and flat. The abrupt change made Stiles reel backwards. Fear pulsed through him and he wanted to run away from the hatred that filled Azrael’s gaze, even though he knew it was directed at herself, “It was an older man, I figured he had his chance. He lived his life. I was just a kid at the time and I figured that gave me the right to fuck him over, to take the chance he had for myself.” She rubbed her face tiredly, “Needless to say he didn’t get out alive.”

“But what about that made you regret not saving him?” Stiles demanded, none of this made sense. If he just died then it wasn’t her fault.

“The only reason he was caught was because he was saving his wife and kids from being caught.”

Oh.

 _That’s_ why.

“Yeah, you fucked up.” Stiles agreed, “But you’re working on it, right? I mean, you’re gonna help me… aren’t you?” He offered weakly, hoping she’d take the olive branch he’d extended.

“You’re right. I am. You’re not going to die in here.” Azrael said and the two of them stiffened as the sounds of people stomping around above them reached their ears, “They’re setting up the arena and sitting area.” Azrael growled, “Let’s get to work.”

\---TEEN-WOLF---

As the next few hours passed, Stiles became more and more agitated. The sounds of people above them filtered down and the other prisoners- _because what else could they be called?_ No one was allowed to leave unless they won the tournament _-_ started preparing themselves for battle. Feeling more than a little bit intimidated, Stiles tried to focus, but his Adderal had worn off almost a half hour ago and there really wasn’t any chance he’d survive this, no matter how much Azrael helped him.

His gaze drifted over to a guy that was, like, a humanoid rhino or some shit and Stiles swore under his breath, “How the fuck am I supposed to defend myself against that?!” He hissed to Azrael.

“Well, for starters, by paying attention.” She scowled, hitting him in the back of the head with the palm of her hand and rested her hand on his shoulder.

“ _Ow_! Okay, look! I get you’re determined to keep me alive but, really, I could do without the concussion!” Stiles snapped, swatting her hand away. A burst of yellow-red flame spurted from his hand, extinguishing before it could get too far. Stiles gaped at his hand, jaw slack and eyes wide, “Holy shit!” He shouted, somehow not drawing any attention to himself, “I just did that! How did I just do that?! What did I just do?!”

Azrael smirked at him, “You just used fire bending. How does it feel to be a fire bender?”

Stiles flexed his hands, “I don’t know what that means.”

“It means, _with practice_ , you can control fire. Like, Pyro from X-Men.”

“ _NO WAY_!” Stiles shouted, “Dude, that’s _so cool_! Is there any other kind of bending I can learn?” He bounced, far too excited at the prospect of being a mutant like the X-Men.

Azrael held her hands up, “Whoa, there, Tonto. Hold your horses, okay? Throwing a half-assed flame is a far step from being able to learn any other element. You still need to learn how to protect yourself for tonight.”

“Yeah, okay, but-”

“No, shut the fuck up for, like, two god damn seconds, okay?” Azrael snarled, teeth gnashing together viciously, “We have less than an hour to get you prepared to fight for your life. Now, what did you feel when your got that fire going?”

Stiles took a deep breath, nodding seriously, “Rage. I felt rage.”

“What else?” Azrael prompted, folding her arms across her chest as she arched an eyebrow at him.

“Injustice.” Stiles jutted out his chin, as if daring Azrael to tell him otherwise.

Azrael bobbed her head, “Good, I need you to recreate those emotions now.” She didn't wait for Stiles to say anything; she just lashed her fist out. Stiles instinctively threw up his arms to cover his face, crossing them in an ‘X’ shape and a wall of flames erupted from them to create a blockade in defense of Azrael’s attack.

Azrael pulled back, a smirk on her face, “You’re a natural.” She complimented, “You might be good enough to do two elements at once some day.”

Stiles snorted, “Yeah, assuming I survive past tonight.”

“Oh, you will. Trust me.” She said coldly, “I’ll make sure you do.”

“Er…” Stiles blinked at the sudden change in her attitude, “Kay…?” He stretched the word out, pushing out his lips in a very duck-like manner and nodding his head with wide eyes, “You’re kinda crazy, you know that?” Azrael beamed at him as the plasma in the corner lit up. He frowned at it and quickly realized it was the schedule for tonight’s fights, “Oh shit.” He wheezed, “I’m the third to last fight.”

Azrael put a calming hand on his shoulder, “I know, but don’t worry. That means we have more time to get you prepared.” She pulled him towards the back of the room and into a make-shift ring, “Hey, Antonio!” She called, grabbing the attention of a man made of rock. He grunted at her, “Tell us when you’re about to go in. You’re just before the new guy.”

Antonio stalked over to them, “New guy got a name?”

“Stiles.” Azrael said, gesturing vaguely to Stiles. He waved awkwardly.

Antonio gave Stiles a quick once-over, arching a marble eyebrow, “Human.” He grunted, sounding bored.

“Fire bender.” Azrael snapped, causing Antonio to make an interested noise that kinda sounded like approval at the same time. Stiles was still kinda stuck on the fact that this guy was _literally made of stone._

“Good luck, Coal.” Antonio saluted the two of them and went to lift some weights on his own.

“Did he just call me ‘Coal’?” Stiles blinked, watching the guy bench press over three thousand pounds, “I just realized I might have to fight him someday. Assuming I survive tonight like you say I will.”

“It means he likes you. He doesn’t give people nick names if he’s not rooting for them.” Azrael explained as she threw another punch at Stiles.

“Whoa! Okay, I get that.” He grunted as he dodged her punch, “But why’d he salute me?”

“Ex Marine.”

“Oh.”

“Yep.” And then Stiles was on the floor because apparently Azrael was a sneaky bitch when she wanted to be. She helped him to his feet, “ _Again_.” She insisted and they were at it again.


	2. The Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek and company try to find Stiles while Stiles goes into his first fight.

Scott snarled and slammed his fist into the wall closest to him. Bits of ashes and cinder chipped off the ceiling, drifting down around him lazily. Stiles had been taken from his room and they lost his scent in the woods about six miles from his house.

_Dammit!_

Scott was about to hit the wall again but Derek smacked him on the back of his head, “Enough.” Derek growled, shoving Scott over to the couch, “Sit. _Stay_.” Derek grunted and Scott just sighed because if Stiles were there, he would have freaked out at that. Derek made a joke and no one could call him out on it.

“I can _literally_ feel your angst from the backyard.” Lydia intoned, brushing past Scott to grab a book from the table.

“Of course you can! My best friend was kidnapped and we can’t find him! _Gah_!” Scott shouted, leaping to his feet.

Derek pushed him back down, a very Not Amused expression settled firmly in place, “We’ll find him, Scott. You have to trust that we’re working on it. The best thing you can do right now is get some sleep. We’ll start the search again in the morning.” Scott sighed and nodded before grabbing his bag, “Go straight home.” Derek said, clearly knowing Scott was planning on stopping by Stiles’ place before heading home.

“ _Fine_.” Scott grumbled, going outside to get his bike and ride home.

Once Scott was out of earshot Lydia turned to face Derek, arching one of her perfect eyebrows, “Deaton’s on his way over, right?” Derek nodded silently, “Good, because I can’t do this spell on my own and Scott would have just messed it up.”

“That’s why I sent him home. He wouldn’t have been able to keep the circle closed and he wouldn’t have been able to focus on what we needed him to.” Derek said, narrowing his eyes at Lydia. She just smiled at him and sauntered past him and Peter to go boss around the boys into doing whatever it was she needed them to do next.

Peter leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms with a faint smirk on his face. It wasn’t a real smirk, though. He was just as worried about Stiles as the rest of them were. Everyone knew it but they didn’t say anything because Peter might decide right then was a great time for _Homicidal: the Sequel_ and they so did not need that.

Derek could just hear Stiles correcting him, “Uh, excuse me, I believe it’s _Crazy Pants 2: Revenge of the Sassy Gay Werewolf_ , thank you very much.” It was probably really bad that Derek was hearing Stiles in his head but hey, it could be worse. It could be Peter in his head. That’d be utter shit.

Deaton pulled up a few moments after Scott had left and Derek resisted the urge to carry the Doctor into his house just so things would go by faster. Anxiously, he stood to the side as his Pack, well, Lydia, Danny, and Deaton set the table up so they could do the spell.

Jackson, Isaac, Erica, and Boyd stood awkwardly to the side, knowing they couldn’t help but wanting to anyways. They hated feeling useless and Derek understood, “Go start on some food. I’m sure we’ll all be hungry by the time this is done.” The four left, grateful for a distraction. Besides, having Isaac and Boyd in the kitchen could only mean something good was going to come out of it.

Deaton laid a black clothe over the table, and went to gather ingredients while Lydia and Danny set candles and two bowls onto the table as well. They spaced the chairs around the table for Deaton, Lydia, and Derek to sit comfortably apart and still be able to hold hands. Apparently that was a necessary thing.

Dammit.

Normally, Derek wasn’t a touchy kind of guy. Even though werewolves were tactile creatures, he never offered more touch than was absolutely necessary. It just wasn’t his thing. Though, for Stiles, he’d endure anything- literally- so he could cope with a night of hand holding.

Deaton nodded to himself as he poured a black liquid into one of the bowls, green looking dirt into the other, and lit the black votive candles. Derek took that as the signal to sit at the table, as did the others. Derek sat next to Deaton, Danny next to Deaton, and Lydia next to both Danny and Derek. It was very pow-wow.

Deaton chanted in some odd language- probably archaic Latin because that seemed to be a theme lately- as Lydia balled up one of Stiles’ favorite shirts and set it into the bowl of black liquid. Stiles’ scent was suddenly amplified and Derek had to keep from looking around because it was like he was just out of Derek’s line of sight.

Lydia grabbed his hand and Deaton did the same on the other side. Derek focused on picturing Stiles in his mind like he’d been instructed to. It came easily. Stiles was a huge part of the Pack and, well, his smile was kind of totally amazing and yeah, wow, Derek really needed to not go down Gay-Feels-For-A-Minor-Road right then.

It’s not like he even had a chance to delve into what he was feeling for the teen- and Christ he really hated that word because it made him feel like a dirty old man- so it could honestly just be a sudden burst of lust for the guy- _much_ better word!- that saved his life multiple times. That was probably it. Yeah, totally. Just a you-saved-my-life-let’s-fuck-a-whole-lot-in-many-different-positions-crush.

Totally normal.

Right?

A sharp kick to his shin from Lydia brought him back to the problem at hand and he refocused, ignoring the blush rising in his cheeks. He wasn’t embarrassed. Nope. It was just… hot in there. Yep, that’s it. Okay, picturing Stiles. Unbidden an image of Stiles panting and writhing under him sprang to mind. Oh, Jesus, not like that!

Derek decided to think of a memory instead of just letting his imagination have control, because _clearly_ that was a Really Bad Idea. He thought about a memory from a few weeks prior, when they had only just calmed down from the Alpha Pack attack. Everyone had, thankfully, survived and the Pack was stronger than ever for it.

Stiles had called a Pack meeting- because apparently he could do that- one night and had everyone stay the night at his place. His dad had cleared it as soon as he realized it was Pack Bonding Night and that it was either the sheriff’s house or the burned down Hale house. They stayed up late watching classic movies from the eighties, which Stiles had proclaimed were in a group called _Movies That Babysat Scott and I as Children_.

They started with The Breakfast Club, which, spoiler alert, wasn’t actually about breakfast at all, much to Isaac’s disappointment, then moved on to the Back to the Future trilogy and somehow delved into Sixteen Candles. Derek found himself watching Stiles more than he watched the movies.

Stiles had such an animated face. Each and every emotion played out on his features when he let his guard down and it was truly beautiful. Derek enjoyed how the light flickered over Stiles’ cheekbones and made his eyes gleam brightly with tears he unabashedly shed. Isaac was curled up with his head in Stiles’ lap and Stiles pet Isaac’s hair absently, whispering the lines along with the movies. That was the night Derek realized he felt something for Stiles and that was also the night he realized he was well and truly fucked.

Derek was jolted out of his memory when someone said his name. He opened his eyes, prepared to snarl and quite possibly growl but his words froze in his throat when he saw Stiles in front of him. The boy was bleeding and obviously in a huge amount of pain. Derek paled and lunged to his feet, only seeing Stiles and nothing else, “C’mon, Stiles! Get up! You have to get up!”

\---TEEN-WOLF---

Stiles was feeling… not _confident_ , but he was definitely feeling better about this whole thing by the time Antonio interrupted their sparring session to tell them he was heading into the ring. Azrael instantly dropped her defensive position and easily dodged Stiles’ attack without even looking.

And there went all of his good feelings about this night.

 _Shit_.

Azrael dragged Stiles over to the least crowded monitor and scared off the rat type creature that had been there before the two of them, “Watch. This is what you’re going to go through next so you need to know what to expect.” Stiles nodded, nerves thrumming through him, making his fingers dance a staccato rhythm on his thigh.

Antonio sauntered into the ring wearing only a pair of military issue khakis and his combat boots that he had left over from his five tours over in Iraq. His skin glistened and shone brightly under the hot spot lights that were shining down on him. Another man, nearly twice Antonio’s size stalked into the ring. This guy was part snake, but he wasn’t a Kanima like Jackson had been. No, he was something different.

Something obviously dangerous.

Stiles nudged Azrael’s side, “What is he?” He whispered, not wanting to speak too loudly in case Snake-Guy had friends around them.

“Jake’s a hybrid. Made by some government whatever the fuck. They didn’t want him after they got bored with him and Carl’s dad bought him, saying he’d die in here and be put to good use before then. Carl spices up his background, though. Says he some magical freak from South America that eats the souls of his victims. Total bullshit, but the people eat it up.”

Stiles frowned, this place was so wrong on so many levels, “Carl?”

“The suit from earlier.” Azrael explained, and the two fell silent in favor of watching the fight begin. A bell dinged and Antonio lunged forward, gripping the snake-man by his shoulder with one hand, and used the other to literally shove his hand into Jake’s chest. A sick tearing sound ripped through the air, followed by a wet pop, and the ring of a bell.

Antonio was announced the winner and was paraded around the ring for a few laps before being sent to hit the showers. Stiles felt sick. He actually thought he was going to puke. That was a legit possibility at that point, “Oh fuck.” He wheezed, “Are all the fights that…” Stiles shook his head, not sure what he was going to finish with.

Azrael stood him upright, resting her warm hand over his heart, “Not all of them are over with that fast,” She promised, looking him in the eyes, “and not all of them are that brutal. You’re up against a fish hybrid, not too difficult, and he’s new here, too. Carl just bought him a few weeks ago from the other fighting ring in Japan. He’s a shower. He likes having the audience on his side. You’ll be okay. Just remember what we’ve been working on, okay?”

Stiles nodded jerkily and swallowed down lungful after lungful of air, desperately trying to fight off the panic attack that was threatening to overwhelm him. Four guards came down the hallway with Antonio in the center of them, freshly showered. Azrael pressed against his chest, “You can do this, alright?” Her hand felt too warm against his skin but he was panicking too much to pay it much attention.

He was about to die. Oh shit, oh shit, he was about to get killed! Stiles gripped Azrael’s upper arms tight, not wanting to let go and risk being taken by the group of guards that were so obviously searching for him. Azrael grabbed his chin, forcing her to look at him, “You can do this.” She growled, “You’re strong, Stiles. You’re stronger than anyone here because you are the boy that runs with wolves. Do you hear me?”

The guards came up to him and grabbed him around the waist. Stiles screamed and shouted, kicking and gnashing his teeth at them. Azrael didn’t fight them when they pulled her away; she just kept screaming at him, “You’re the boy that runs with wolves! You’re stronger than anyone here!” Her eyes flashed silver, “You’re the strongest here! _I believe in you, Stiles!”_

Stiles grunted as he was literally tossed into a well lit room and the door slammed shut behind him. He wrapped his arms around his chest, trying to breathe. He’d be alright. He could do this. It was okay. He could do this. He wiped his eyes and scrubbed his hands over his face, trying to make it look like he hadn’t been crying. Nope. He was a big man. Totally.

Christ, he was going to die.

A door opposite of the one he came in opened and a sign flicked on, instructing him to ‘exit the room’. There wasn’t even a please. Rude much? Stiles stumbled through the door, understanding fully that the fight was going to begin soon and that he hadn’t even said goodbye to his dad. Or Scott. Or, hell, _anyone_. He felt a pang in his chest when he thought about Derek. He never even got to kiss his Sourwolf.

Stiles shook those thoughts from his head because if Azrael believed in him and was willing to scream it as he was being dragged away, then dammit, he could do this! He could! He was the boy that ran with wolves! He was Stiles Stillinski, the sheriff’s son, the boy that ran with wolves. He and his Pack killed four Alpha’s from the Alpha Pack that had invaded his home town. He was _strong_. He was _powerful_. The more he thought that, the more he believed he could do it.

He squared his shoulders, raised his chin high, and walked onto that canvas with absolute conviction that he was going to win. He was going to kill this sonuvabitch and was going to go home to his family, no matter what.

There was a referee in the center of the arena. There hadn’t been a referee in the arena when Antonio had fought. Stiles paused by the edge of the arena, not quite willing to duck under the ropes just yet. Not until he got the okay. He didn’t want to cause any crap and get disqualified for it because that probably meant they’d kill him anyways.

The referee grinned at Stiles as he pressed one of his fingers to his ear. He nodded minutely and put the microphone up to his mouth, “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls,” He said with a why-yes-I-also-DJ-for-your-local-jazz-station voice, “Ha ha ha. Have we got a show for you tonight! Oh yes.”

The lights dimmed and focused on the ref, “All the way from Beacon Hills-” Stiles swallowed hard but put on a brave face, “California. The Alpha Killer, the Big Bad Red Riding Hood, ladies and gentlemen, I give you, the Boy That Runs with Wolves!” The lights twisted sharply and landed on Stiles. He just barely managed to not flinch.

Instead, he bare his teeth and snarled like Derek and the Pack had taught him. The collective gasp from the audience was probably meant to be a good thing but honestly, he could only wonder how bad he looked from his sparring sessions with Azrael, “This vicious little thing has killed a Kanima, five Alphas’, and a witch all on his own.” There was another gasp from the audience and Stiles simply snarled again.

Maybe the other guy would back out if Stiles seemed scary enough. The ref motioned for Stiles to climb into the ring and Stiles did, keeping his movements tight and jerky, trying to keep everyone off balance. That was his best bet. Don’t let anyone know what he could do and surprise the fuck outta them in the end.

The ref made another introductory speech for Stiles’ opponent but Stiles found he couldn’t actually focus on that right then. He should’ve. He should’ve been listening and cataloguing everything, but all he could think about was the fact that he was going to try to kill someone in a matter of moments.

Stiles knew the fight had officially begun when his opponent’s fist smashed into his face. He flew backwards, landing on the mat painfully hard. Searing pain flared in his cheek but somehow he pushed that to the back of his mind and got to his feet. He spat a wad of blood onto the canvas and raised his fists, determination filling every fiber of his being.

This time he saw the attack coming. He ducked under the fist and hit the other guy in the gut with a thick ball of fire. The guy howled in anger and whirled around, only to receive two swift punches to his ribs and side. Stiles remembered some self defense classes he took at his dad’s insistence, thanking every deity he knew that he let his dad talk him into it. Some information from the internet leaked to the forefront of his mind- the torso was a weak spot on fish hybrids.

He knew he could win this.

If that information was _right_ , it came from the internet, after all…

Stiles grimaced at the taste of his blood filling his mouth but he didn’t let that distract him. Nikolai snarled viciously at Stiles and charged him, claws and fangs bared. Nikolai lashed out just as Stiles dropped and twisted his body, so he could kick his foot right into the fish man’s stomach.

Nikolai’s jaw dropped as he gasped, his gills flapping open as he tried to breathe. Stiles felt his stomach roll but he knew he had to act fast or else Nikolai would- Stiles flew backwards, head cracking against the hard floor beneath him painfully.

 _Fuuuuck_.

Stiles groaned as the world swirled and did a very not nice thing by flipping on him. He struggled to stand because he just knew Nikolai was coming after him. He could feel it. Shit. _C’mon Stillinski, fucking get up!_ A brutal kick to Stiles’ ribs had him coughing up blood and bits of his cheek from where he bit through it. Christ.

Stiles’ vision was swimming- heh, swimming. He was fighting a fish man and his vision was swimming. He blinked back a red film in his eyes and frowned when an all too familiar figure stood before him, “Derek?” He wheezed and cried out in pain when Nikolai kicked him again.

Derek lunged forward, going right through Nikolai and landing next to Stiles, “C’mon, Stiles! Get up! You have to get up!” Derek begged, looking absolutely panicked. Which was weird because Derek never looked panicked.

“One helluva hallucination.” Stiles mumbled as Nikolai gloated to the audience. The fish man was showing off his muscles and posing for his adoring fans, clearly oblivious to his opponent’s mental break. Which was probably a good thing because, really, this was so not the time for Stiles to go crazy.

“Stiles, where are you?” Derek demanded and Stiles tried to shrug, but, fuck it hurt to! Derek totally noticed because, hello, Alpha wolf here, “Shit, okay, can you speak? Stiles, tell me where you are!”

“I d’no where ‘m at.” Stiles slurred, head lolling backwards for one terrifying moment.

“ _STILES_!” Derek roared, startling Stiles back into mostly-consciousness, “How can we find you?”

“Gotta win.” Stiles murmured, feeling stupidly sleepy, “…’f I win Creepy Guy’ll tell you where ‘m at.”

“He will? Are you sure?” Derek asked, looking pale and worried and oh, so _very_ scared. Stiles blinked stupidly at his Alpha and friend, “Stiles! Look at me!” Derek snapped his fingers in Stiles’ face, “Are you sure that’s what he said?” Stiles just nodded and Derek pursed his lips before gripping either side of Stiles’ face.

And then Stiles screamed.

Agony coursed through him, pure and unadulterated agony ripped him apart from the inside out. It felt like fire was being pushed into his body, like someone was replacing the blood in his veins with molten hot metal. Stiles screamed, his throat was raw, and his body arched suddenly. His chest heaved upwards, towards the sky and the pain began receding just as fast as it had attacked.

Derek was nowhere to be seen but Stiles felt powerful right then, so that was _just_ fine. White hot flames danced from his bare arms as he sluggishly got to his feet. He was half hunched over, his head cocked to the side as he tracked his prey like some sort of monster.

Like a _werewolf_.

He was prepared to attack at a moment’s notice. Any slight movement from his prey was going to end in a killing. The fish man seemed to have suddenly realized what was going to happen because his eyes flew wide and a scream tore itself from his lips, unbidden. Stiles launched forward then, latching his teeth to the fish man’s throat and ripping his head back fiercely.

Slick blue-green blood splattered all over Stiles’ face, drenching the front of his t-shirt, and soaking into his ratty old blue jeans. The body in his grip spasmed as Stiles jumped back, landing in a neat hunters crouch before he stood and watched the body fall to the canvas floor. The audience was silent around him, apparently in complete shock. Stiles threw his head back and let out a bone chilling howl, exactly like the Pack had taught him. He thrust his arms out wide as he howled; looking like a complete and utter maniac but holy shit he survived.

There was a part of him that was seriously freaking out right then. He’d just killed someone in cold blood. _He ripped a man’s throat out_. But the Boy that Ran with Wolves wouldn’t let Stiles have any real control over his body just yet. The Boy that Ran with Wolves was protecting Stiles from what could happen if he freaked out. He couldn’t be weak there. He knew that.

The ref made a vague ‘get the fuck outta here, freak’ motion with one hand as the crowd exploded into roars of appreciation. Stiles ducked under the ropes of the arena and jogged back towards the bright room. He followed the guards over to the showers and stripped without argument. He was numb, the Boy that Ran with Wolves wasn’t in control, and neither was Stiles. This was some in between version that simply did as he was told and made no fuss whatsoever about it.

Once he was clean he was given a pair of black pajama pants, a plain white t-shirt, a pair of tennis shoes, and a large red hoodie. Even Robot!Stiles could appreciate the humor in that. The guards chuckled nervously as he bare his teeth a little too much with his smile. He slid his mouth shut and followed the guards to the cavern where Azrael would, hopefully, be waiting for him.

She was.

Stiles fell into her arms the second the guards left him alone with her. She petted his hair soothingly as he sobbed into her chest, hauled him over to the sink just before he threw up, and cleaned his face after. She hummed softly as the two settled down in a far cage so they could try to ignore the raucous fighting above them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I have a third of the third chapter done but I've got a bit of writers block so it may take a while for me to get it out. Feel free to message me to get my ass in gear. Actually, PLEASE message me to get my ass in gear. Thanks for all your support.
> 
> -Ashley


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